Epoch
by BonJiro
Summary: The two of them held fast to routine, capturing their affair within hidden hours to leave it there, untouched by the rest of their days. But even the faithful ticking of the clock can become strained enough that the hands no longer move, no matter how much one might will them to, when weighed down by the gravity of what they had allowed. [ZelGan drabbles]
1. Night

The lifeless silence within the castle walls haunted her in the dead of night.

Wakeful, without the reprieve slumber would bring to a tired and tattered mind, the Princess lay draped in the false comforts of satin sheets. Quiet had come to devour the very world around her, making it seem a hollow, artificial thing; an empty stage bereft of an audience, waiting for the spotlight of the morning to revive it. Nightfall brought a subtle, sanguine madness to her heart, she found, to float pallid whispers passed pointed ears. It came trickling from the whitewashed brick and mortar, spoken softly by conscience to warn her of the unnatural and grotesque as Zelda patiently waited for such things to arise.

The embers of her fire had grown dim and weak, untended in the early morning hours as they wrought a ghostly shadow to flicker across her chambers. The air held chill enough that her breath would meet it hot, and any limb removed from the embrace of her blankets found discomfort; the darkness seeming to prickle at her tender flesh.

Even so, limply lifting her hand into the cold, Zelda would watch the back of it to ignore the disquieting sensation. The faintest spark wavered upon the triangular design, swirling and growing in strength until the light seemed to pour from her skin. Counting the seconds until they were matched by the audible fall of boots, the hopeful light would—like her embers—grow subdued, weakly wavering until it was snuffed out like a candle.

Each night she did this. Each night she listened as the silence was filled, and watched fate be callously ignored, spat on and tossed aside for a moment more. The slow creak of her doors had become a familiar thing, comforting and reliable, though it beckoned tragedy to stir. A hundred times or more he had come, precise and punctual and following the same course. Like clockwork, their sordid romance had ticked away many hours, but like the very cogs that moved faithful hands, the longer they held to it the more worn down they became. As with all things, it too would one day slow and stop, left a broken and rusted memory beyond repair.

Though she knew not when it would finally cease, the Princess both prayed for the end to come and feared each night may be their last.

The subtle click of the latch seemed to call out and invite, as much as the slow creak would protest it. His imposing silhouette as it swept toward her reticent outline looked as much a monster as it did the familiar shape of a lover, carried by timed strides—neither hurried, nor slow. The possessive scrutiny with which the fiery gold of his eyes cleaved to hers did not ask permission, but instead seemed to burn bright with the knowledge that he needn't have it.

The side of her bed was stolen, cold and lonely though it was, to accept his weight with a fond ease and drink deep of any warmth he brought to it. Where he perched, seeming so suddenly to take up all available space about her, let the glow of embers trace the lines of sinewy muscle while bathing half his stern features in the darkness still. Her gaze lingered on the exposed and thickly tanned flesh she knew so well now, it may as well have been a part of herself rather than worn on another.

Every scar, every story and tale of old that littered his flesh still... slender fingers had explored them all. Her pale lips had travelled the secret path betwixt sturdy shoulder and thick clavicle many times, straight and blunt teeth nipping the steep line of his neck to follow rhythmic pulse toward rounded ear. Zelda knew well the feeling of corded, steel-like arms wrapping around her torso to arch the small of her back and leave her at his mercy, pressed so forcefully against bare chest she swore their hearts would beat in time. She knew the rough sound of her name ground out from behind clenched teeth, and the pitching of her own breathless voice as it struggled to call his in turn.

Ever selfish, a rough and calloused hand came to hover over her side, a stifled patience in the way it drifted over curves without touch, only to curl thick fingers into the fold of her blanket. Drawing it back from her form without care for the cold he would reveal to her, it was quietly forceful; gentle and yet determined, as if there were never any choice in the matter.

Both of them knew better, but it was a lie they would happily accept.

A shiver ran through her bones as it often did, a mingling of the night's chill and the searing fire of his sweeping gaze. Zelda had long abandoned bedroom attire, forcing the habit of convenience—perhaps, within herself, she knew it would appeal to his sense of control. Vulnerable and exposed, the Princess offered no resistance though the cold clawed at pale skin, for she knew the Gerudo's warmth would soon be upon her.

But neither did she move to invite him. Never once had she made such a pivotal mistake as that, for it would require admitting to herself how desperate to keep him she'd become.

Closing crystalline eyes, she awaited his touch with a private greed, the thrill of it fluttering within her belly. Seconds passed, precious and lost once they had ticked by. It did not come. Instead, pointed ears perked to the whisper that came not of her mind, but of an enemy she had forgiven far too soon.

"Even after all this time," he began, a rueful tone slimly hidden by the low and rich timbre of his voice, "I'm still the one that must come to you."

She did not hide the small sigh that escaped her, the faintest shake of her head given as long lashes remained closed. "And it is a rare kindness on your part that I have come to cherish..."

"Or perhaps a cruelty even I could not have contrived," he offered quietly, leaning to reach of a lock of spun gold as it sat splayed across her silken pillow. "Feeding a parched man drops of water while withholding a lake."

"Would you rather I allow him to die of thirst?" Crystalline eyes opened enough to drift toward his profile, iced over with frozen emotions he would only ever be able to guess at. "If I gave any more than this, we would both have drowned long ago... You know that better than anyone, Ganondorf."

A distant stare echoed out between them, heavy with pathos and resentment, though filled with fragile things neither had the heart to truly feel. These impossibilities stalked them always, hissing at their defiance to spit poison upon whatever unnatural sensation they entertained. Its onset had been almost imperceptible, like an assiduous housekeeper dousing lanterns—it noiselessly went about and snuffed out, one by one, the mind's thousand small accesses to pleasure in the absence of the other.

There were some things a thief could never steal, nor a king conquer and take for his own. Though he could stir it up and watch it bloom from afar, tasting its sweet nectar upon her lips, she would deny him the gift of ever claiming it. Zelda knew that to give him her heart would be to invite his demons to feast upon it until nothing but a withered husk remained.

But for as long as a man still cleaved to her door in the dead of night, haunting the empty silence undefined hours often brought, her body seemed a fitting sacrifice to keep their pains at bay.

Slender fingers moved to brush the awful marking on the back of his hand—claiming him for a purpose far more sinister than these quiet moments would have her believe—as it crept toward her hair. Golden eyes strayed toward the marking on hers in turn, and knew these precious hours would soon run out. She drew his hand close to rest cold cheek upon the knuckle, and wistfully he beheld the soft lines of her face in the shadows. Slowly he drew his vision down upon her naked form, able to pluck the lithe curvature of her frame from memory though the sight was never so potent in his mind as it was laid out before him.

The Gerudo saw carved of her pale flesh the very image of her country's splendour; the fluid grace of the rivers, the pristine clarity of Lake Hylia. He saw the lush fields rolling across her toned stomach, the sands of the desert whipped about in her golden tresses, and the blue skies reaching to the furthest horizon within her eyes. Her chest risen with breath to evoke the mountains, elegant limbs like the forest trees.

He knew as well as she did this would not last, doomed to be buried beneath old habits and greater callings, even as crimson locks tumbled from his shoulders to surround her beautiful face. He knew it was the greatest sin to brush his lips against hers like he did, dragging his bones atop her fragile form with want.

But entwined within the drum-beat strains of their sordid and bleak passions, strokes taken as naturally as a ticking clock, they did not think of the painful consequences time spent this way would cost them when it finally ran out.

They only knew that lost time could never be found again.

**A/N:**

**I sat down today after work and I felt something bubbling in the back of my head, and I had no idea what it was until I started writing it. I was quite tired, and I wasn't in a thinking mood. In fact, I hadn't intended on writing today. I didn't have any clue as to where this would go, or why it wanted to be written. It just did.**

**I knew it was going to be short and wordy, but somehow I could tell it wouldn't fit in with the other drabbles in Notes to a Melody.**

**But now that it's out there... Good job brain. ZelGan is always a win.**

**Onwards to Glory!**


	2. Books

The library was a somewhat removed yet welcoming place to her eye, filled with the lukewarm camber of twilight as it filtered softly through high windows. The musty smell of old parchments was a rich thing, familiar and expected, as it boasted of the many tomes to be found here.

Between the two of them—she, an avid reader since childhood with habit drawn from many a tale, and he, not able to indulge his love affair with the written word quite so frequently—the Princess and the Gerudo had found themselves occupied quickly within the grand chamber, each settling in with a glass of brandy to a comfortable reticence.

Coming to the end of her chapter, Zelda absent-mindedly reached for her glass, skimming the last few words before turning her attention to the drink in full with a soft closing of leather bound covers. She smiled to herself as she brought the drink close, admiring the colour; rich and earthy as it was.

Flicking a glance to her only company, a lonesome figure cut of him as he reclined uncomfortably in an armchair slightly too small for his frame, Zelda found the brandy somewhat resembled the colour of his eyes when bathed in the shadows of some night born tryst.

Though his own book was still in hand as golden eyes perused it with care, his gaze was prone to darting upward and checking on her occasionally, if only to steal a glance of the serene beauty she wielded when taken by some whimsical novella. Not even a minute passed before he caught her idle stare, a crimson brow arched upon weathered features, and a small slip of laughter left her throat as she held her glass high in silent toast.

"You always look so cranky and nonplussed when you read, you know." she smiled at him, tilting her head slightly in an almost lazy fashion as she considered him. "It's a very fine line between seeming like you've been offended by something written, or simply that you're growing rusty in your Hylian and can't quite make out what it says."

A patient grimace took to forming creases at either side of his mouth as his brows twitched to show some annoyance. "Perhaps if your father had seen fit to stock a more _varied_ array of literature, I might not have to resort to such pitiful stocks of bigoted rubbish passing itself for 'poetry'. Quite frankly, Princess, written Hylian is as versatile and beautiful as a fingerless carpenter making three legged chairs."

With a light rolling of crystalline eyes, the Princess waved a hand dismissively and brought her glass close to her lips. "You know very well we have a section of imported Gerudo works. If you miss your mother tongue, why not seek out something there instead of berating the rest of the collection?"

A sharp snap saw his own book closed in one deft motion as he leaned forward in his seat, eyeing her closely as the tome was gestured her way in point. "Have you even read a single one of them?"

"Of course I have." She avoided his gaze, swirling her brandy.

"Recommend one." He challenged, golden eyes narrowing.

Tapping a fingernail upon the smooth surface of her glass, Zelda offered a coy and somewhat haughty smile and sweetly gave him a title. "_Ikaarti du sin esta dorfesi_; the tale of the Two Kings."

A shadow of anger swept across his face to bring out the scowl he so often wore, and with the slightest hint of disgust, he chastised her with a sneer.

"That's a children's story." He hissed low; offended that she would suggest it at all—more than that, he was also somewhat disappointed she had indeed read one, even if it was childish fiction. As a bitter aside, leaning back into his seat, he chided, "…And your accent is terrible."

To his chagrin, Zelda only returned him with a charmed—if not amused—smile. A slight twinkle shone in her eye, before she dropped it to her drink. "Nobody in the castle was really familiar enough with the Gerudo tongue to correct me, I'm afraid. In fact, it was a scullery maid who taught me to read it at all… I spent hours with her here, when we both ought to have retired to bed. Anadoora, her name was… she had hair almost as red as yours."

A long moment of silence passed, and the fond sparkle in her gaze dimmed into something distant and regretful. The Gerudo watched her as the subtle changes shifted within her, his own frustrations softening some when he heard the name. Doubtless, the maid had been of watered down blood, and so much of the majesty of his language would've been lost on her as well. It pained him, in a way, to be reminded of the fact that his tongue and teeth were raised to grow around and form the sounds of a dead language.

But finally, with a light shake of her head, the Princess returned her attention to him.

"Perhaps you could read a few of them to me. You could certainly improve upon what she taught me, given we both knew only enough to read the old wives' tales... Then I might not be resigned to simple _children's stories_." She shot him a daring look, knowing he was as likely to accept the offer as spit poison at her and storm away.

It did not go amiss, and a cynical smirk took him over as Ganondorf gave the frail girl a once over, double checking her intentions. "It has been some time since I have had to make sense of the scribblings your people claim as an artful language… a refresher course for the both of us may not go astray, Zelda." He conceded it in a victorious manner, as if she had begged him to learn.

"Then I might be able to tell you, in the most colourful Hylian possible, how _lackluster_ your collection truly is." He chuckled wryly, and his grin revealed how much pleasure he would take in such a thing.

"Only to be chastised for your bad taste in your own mother tongue, no less." She chortled over the rim of her glass, taking a long draught of it and letting the warmth coat her tongue with satisfaction.

"And by that point, Princess," he offered, running a hand through unbound crimson locks and rising to fetch something from the section in question, "Your accent had better be as good as mine."


	3. Scales and Arpeggios

Bathed in sunlight as she sat upon the windowsill, here was something strangely distant about the way satin gloved fingers plucked fragile notes from the lyre that caught the Gerudo by surprise. The melody haunted rounded ears as it lilted between them a mystery—so very familiar, it seemed to caress the brick and mortar of castle walls, drawing from them the bittersweet whisper of an ancient memory long lost.

Yet no matter what tune the Princess sweetly coaxed from its strings, his ear was enamoured to such sounds as much as his golden eyes seemed, in those moments, enthralled with the very shape of her. Where before the music she sat a hollow fixture of her father's things, Zelda's pale skin gained glow and her cheeks seemed richer for the lightest pink to grace them in concentration; long lashes closed to his stare.

She excelled without effort, it seemed, as she did many other intellectual—and perhaps, more pressingly—_artistic_ pursuits.

He did not, though his tongue was quick to say otherwise when crystalline eyes had flashed his way.

Swallowing against a dry throat, the very last note gently floated away and the Princess' head lifted with some serene finality. Ganondorf was keenly aware of the coming silence and the expectancy it brought as his gaze wandered to the ivory keys beside him in turn.

No sooner had an unsure glance graced the piano did Zelda's attention shift to him, drawing his gaze back toward a modest smile.

"Not my best rendition, I'm afraid..." she offered humbly, lowering her instrument to rest upon her lap. Tilting her head, long lashes blinked once, studying the Gerudo before her with benign curiosity. "But, the piano does afford some flexibility. Perhaps you could do it better justice."

Thick fingers twitched upon biceps nervously, and defensive now, he kept bulky arms crossed tight across his chest to send her a scowl.

"And I suppose you were expecting some grand performance in return for that paltry effort?" he hissed, crimson brows knitting together to darken his worn features further.

Her pleasant demeanour did not falter, not a flinch nor twitch of her brow, and he had to credit her for that.

Tossing his gaze away from her, the Gerudo would scoff and dismiss, waving a belittling hand at her. "I am not here for your entertainment. Play your pretty little harp if you desire, Princess, it won't draw my quill any closer to signing your father's treaty. I require substance and action, not a show of frills and niceties."

She seemed to consider him a moment, thoughtfully smoothing the crinkles from the folds of her dress as she did, and with a small chuckle, her smile grew.

"You can't play, can you?"

Whipping his head back to stare at her, tussled crimson flicked behind as golden eyes widened; affronted. With a snarl he set about her, determined to squash the truth before any embarrassment could come of it.

"I don't see what my musical inclinations have to do with anything! You're the one who insists upon wasting my time each day in this manner!" teeth clenched tight about the words, lending a snap to his low toned growl as he stared her down with intensity enough to set her ablaze. "When your father insisted I keep company with you, I had thought the Bearer of Wisdom might make for a more stimulating acquaintance than some gussied-up _bard_!"

To the flare of his temper, renowned and dangerous though she knew it to be, Zelda's smile swiftly turned into a grin. Slimly hidden behind gloved fingertips, her laughter was barely stifled—perhaps a few squeaks to sharpen murderous leers. The Princess could see the Gerudo's teeth grinding, corded muscle winding tight with either the want to strike her or simply storm away in fury.

He was so like a child, sometimes, her mind could scarcely accept the possibility of severe repercussions in raising his ire.

And like any child in the midst of a tantrum, she soothed with a mothering voice; soft and considerate as she gently reached to touch his trembling arm.

"Ganondorf, you've stayed here nearly a month now, and every day I see you staring at that piano. Not once have you ever touched it. If you had the passion for it like you've claimed, I'd have heard you play already... instead, I watch you sit here day after day, wondering what it may sound like beneath your fingers yet too fearful to touch the keys and make a fool of yourself."

Somehow, without his realising it, the Princess had come closer as she spoke. It's onset had been nearly imperceptible, the way he suddenly found her seated beside him, surreptitiously floating across from her windowsill to join him upon the bench; ready to play and lyre left behind.

His scowl faltered when finally the satin of her glove brushed his tanned flesh, slowly melting his anger down to reforge of it some sceptical and cynical bemusement.

"But, I think it's far more foolish to shy away from a challenge for dignity, rather than try to meet it and fail." She smiled up at him with the same glow she held when last music had filled the air, and her crystalline eyes seemed to shimmer with all the majesty of Lake Hylia on a summer's day.

"After all, mastery is born of failure, and the tenacity to keep refining one's skill in order to avoid it. Don't you think so, Ganondorf?"

He traced the soft lines of face in silent question, ever paranoid of his dealings with the crafty girl, but if he saw in her any sliver of trickery, the odd sensation trailing his spine quickly doused such hateful flames. He could not deny himself the mastery of anything, truly, once his interest had been piqued...

But then, perhaps he knew she spoke of much more than simple scales and arpeggios.

"I suppose it has... been a while since last I played the piano." he conceded slowly, careful to protect his pride and conceal a liar's tongue. Even as he did so, he felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "My skills may indeed have grown somewhat rusted with time and neglect."

"We'll start at the beginning then, shall we?" she saw through his deception with the same saccharine smile she always had.

A click of his tongue, and the smirk went unabated. "As you wish, Princess."


End file.
